4.5 stars.

This book truly covered an extensive amount of stuff. There was just so much in it that I simply did not have the motivation to go through every single aspect. I initially had only a rather vague understanding of what this book was really all about, but as I delved deeper, my mind was completely blown away.

I absolutely love Ozeki's writing style. The way she incorporated Shonagon into the story was really captivating, and it has definitely piqued my interest in reading The Pillow Book. I found Akiko to be a particularly unique character, while Jane didn't quite have the same level of distinctiveness for me.

There were some interesting similar themes and circumstances in this story compared to Breasts and Eggs, such as infertility, adoption, and being a single mother. The message about the meat industry and capitalism was, in my opinion, very well executed. It has actually made me start considering becoming a vegetarian, which was something I never expected from the beginning. Maybe I'm just a bit slow to catch on.

However, I do think that the book was a bit drawn out at certain points. And like some other people, I felt that the juxtaposition of Akiko and Jane wasn't the most effective or perhaps even a bit stereotypical. The difference between their partners also seemed a bit too obvious.

What really made this book stand out to me, though, was its format and creativity. It was truly a unique reading experience. I am really looking forward to reading Ozeki's other writings in the future.

The ground this book covered was truly stupendous. In an admirable yet mostly disconcerting way, it combined politically charged hallmark-esque TV programs, fertility and pregnancy issues, and antibiotic resistance all in a single story. To say I was confused most of the time is a huge understatement. Lmao.

Ozeki's signature voice is definitely the redeeming factor here. She's unapologetic, irreverent, and strikingly experimental with her writing structures, as always. However, what she did so well in TFATB and BOTFAE is heavily lacking in this book. There's a lot less heart and a lot more prescription.

I did appreciate the insights from her interview at the end of the book. She challenges readers to refrain from shirking the intersection of their literary darlings and "politics and commerce". But I do think there needs to be a baseline of sympathy to successfully engage and exhort. Jane and Akiko were distinct characters, but I didn't ache for them like I did for Nao or Benny. Still, I'm glad I read it, and I'm glad I don't ever have strong meat cravings. Lmfao.

(Also!!! I picked up The Pillow Book at the same time, not knowing that it's literally the backbone of My Year of Meats!! That has to mean something, right?)

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To be honest, this book is truly strange. It gives the impression of a memoir rather than fiction. In fact, for a good two-thirds of the way through, I was convinced it was a memoir. There are an abundance of scientific details included in a rather mechanical way, which made me feel as if I was reading a long, at times poetic, and at other times overly dramatic reportage. It was interesting, to be sure, but also quite confusing.

Confusing is indeed the perfect word to describe this book. I noticed that many reviewers were shocked or even offended by its supposed “vegetarian agenda,” yet I couldn't really see much of it. The main character of the book is clearly against eating beef, but lamb, chicken, pork, and fish seem to be fair game. One of the most sentimental scenes involves a railroad car filled with cheerful black people, singing loudly and presenting the secondary heroine, Akiko, with mouth-watering fried chicken. I wish I were joking, but I'm not.

Seriously, there is a lot of stereotyping in this book, and it really spoiled my enjoyment of it. I don't have a problem with a vegan or vegetarian agenda. In fact, I think it's a very valid and important one, as I myself don't eat meat. I'm all for vegan proselytizing. However, the bad and ugly part here is the completely untrue, stereotypical, and overwrought caricature of Japan and the Japanese. Akiko is portrayed as being too stupid to live, her husband is the most hateful and despicable depiction of a Japanese salaryman I've ever seen, and Japanese society is presented as a group of evil automatons. Poor Akiko can only find happiness by running away to the beautiful land of America, where random people will allegedly feed and house her for free.

And the quotes from The Pillow Book annoyed me to no end. Its author is Sei Shōnagon, people. You should never shorten it to “Shōnagon.” Shōnagon is not a first name; it's a court rank of someone she was related to. No one knows her real name. Now, that's a creepy fact.

In conclusion, while the book had some interesting aspects, the stereotyping and inaccurate portrayals really detracted from my overall experience. I would not recommend this book to others.

Can Ruth Ozeki miss? I think not.

In her remarkable debut novel My Year of Meats, Ozeki delves deep into the complex world of American factory farming shortcuts and deregulation, exploring their far-reaching international and individual implications.

To evade government oversight regarding the hormones used in cattle treatment, an American beef manufacturer cunningly begins selling their product in Japan, where there is no such regulation. However, as a culture strongly influenced by Buddhism, the Japanese diet contains relatively little meat. To boost sales, the beef manufacturer devises a reality TV show called My American Wife. Each week, Japanese audiences are introduced to a new American family, with the wife demonstrating how to prepare a meat-laden dish.

And through this TV show, the lives of two very different women intersect.

Jane Takagi-Little, a Japanese-American aspiring documentarian from MN, is in desperate need of a job when she gets the opportunity to produce My American Wife. While the show aims to repeatedly portray families conforming to an American stereotype (straight white parents with straight white kids), Jane prefers to capture the country's diversity. As she interviews families from all over the country to showcase, she starts to notice a pattern of harmful effects caused by the very product she has to sell, meat.

Akiko Ueno is the Tokyo housewife of one of the My American Wife's Japanese producers - the one most insistent that Jane adheres to the stereotype. Having sacrificed her career as a mangaka to meet society's expectation that she become a wife and mother, Akiko lives in quiet dissatisfaction, her marriage lacking love and never having conceived. As her husband has her test the recipes from the TV show, she witnesses the diverse America that Jane portrays and begins to realize that her life can be more.

The story follows their individual discoveries - Jane of the meat industry and Akiko of herself - until their two journeys lead them to meet...through meat. It is a beautiful, humanist tale that explores the many things that connect us as humans and is a truly fulfilling read.

My one concern with this book is both a blessing and a curse:

While it does vividly depict many aspects of American factory farming, the focus is predominantly on its human impact rather than on its animal one. As someone highly sensitive to depictions of animal cruelty and death, especially for meat consumption, there are some challenging scenes to endure, but not so many that they become the book's main takeaway. I appreciate that the animal scenes are not overly traumatizing, but I worry that they may not be sufficient to instill empathy for meat animals in those who are not already aware.

Especially when combined with the book's truly enticing descriptions of meat dishes.

My Year of Meats is a captivating story with a main character being a Japanese reality show titled The American Wife.

Every week, the crew embarks on a journey to visit an American family. They get a glimpse into her home, interact with the family members, and then witness her preparing a meat meal.

Two characters play significant roles in the narrative, orbiting in and out. There is Jane, the independent Japanese/American director of the series, and Okiko, a meek Japanese woman whose abusive husband is the show's producer.

The book truly becomes more interesting when their stories intersect, adding depth and complexity to the overall plot.

Female-centered topics such as sexuality, infertility, pregnancy, and domestic violence are delved into, providing a thought-provoking exploration. Additionally, a corollary story about the evils of the meat industry is presented.

Sadly, this aspect also turns out to be the book's weakness as the message can come across as preachy and overly in your face. However, it does manage to get the point across effectively.

As a result, my grocery cart this week will undoubtedly contain more vegetables and fewer animal products. With mixed emotions, I give the book three stars.

It has its flaws, but it also offers valuable insights and makes one reflect on various important issues.

“If we can't act on knowledge, then we can't survive without ignorance. So we cultivate ignorance, go to great lengths to celebrate it.”

This profound statement, written over 20 years ago at the end of the millennium, still holds great significance today. The novel it is from delves into a plethora of important and timely topics. It explores the complex nature of motherhood, the rigid gender roles that society often imposes, the all-consuming force of consumerism, the rich tapestry of culture, and even the controversial subject of meat.

I must issue a warning, however. Parts of this book are truly “very fucked up.” They may shock, disturb, or challenge your preconceived notions. But it is precisely through this discomfort that the book forces us to confront the harsh realities of our world and question our own beliefs and actions. It is a thought-provoking and eye-opening read that will stay with you long after you have turned the final page.

I initially began with a profound love for this book. The narrative voice was truly captivating and seemed like a beautiful love letter dedicated to all the aspects I cherish about the American Heartland. I was deeply fascinated by the incisive commentary on authenticity - not only with ourselves but also with physical commodities like meat and with others. Additionally, I absolutely adored the excerpts from The Pillow Book and the way it presented simple yet profound wisdom. Without a doubt, I was going to include it on my to-read list. I was also deeply moved by Akiko's difficult situation and found her story to be extremely interesting.

However, out of the blue, the book suddenly transforms into a sort of poor imitation of The Jungle, but with even more unlikable characters. The character Dave seemingly materializes out of thin air, and his whole purpose appears to be to spout lengthy paragraphs of content that seems to be lifted directly from "Food, Inc". It closely resembles how The Jungle devolves into a socialist manifesto towards the end, only this version is far less engaging.

I am fully aware of the issue of factory farming, and the book did make an impact on me in this regard. Nevertheless, this kind of material would have been more appropriately placed in a non-fiction work. It unfortunately disrupted what could have been a truly moving portrayal of two women from different cultures.

Bro, I really hate Sloan. I don't know what it is about Sloan that just rubs me the wrong way. Maybe it's the way they act, or the things they say. Every time I have to deal with Sloan, it just makes me feel frustrated and annoyed.

It could be that Sloan has done something to me in the past that I haven't forgiven them for. Or maybe it's just a personality clash. Whatever the reason, I can't seem to get over my hatred for Sloan.

I've tried to be civil and polite when I'm around Sloan, but it's really hard. I always end up snapping at them or giving them dirty looks. I know it's not the best way to handle the situation, but I just can't help it.

I guess I'll just have to find a way to deal with my hatred for Sloan. Maybe I need to talk to someone about it, or try to find some common ground with Sloan. But for now, I'm just going to have to suck it up and try to avoid Sloan as much as possible.

In this root sense, ignorance is an act of will, a choice that one makes over and over again, especially when information overwhelms and knowledge has become synonymous with impotence.

If you spend too much time among the bestsellers, the prize winners, and the white male authors of the world, you will be misled in your assumptions of what is possible for literature at a particular point in time. Romanticism, Realism, Modernism, Post-Modernism, and all these flitty little titles do not help at all when I want to explore Arabic, Chinese, or Brazilian literature of a mislabeled time. Ignoring the cross-reference of countries outside the Anglo stasis doesn't help either. What is this particular title my world carries on? Post-post-modernism when Adichie thrives on Realism? Post-post-post-modernism when a millennium-old text is interwoven with what is written on the cusp of 2000 CE? And then, of course, no politics for you. Even further on, no Internet save for in diminished, slighted, sniggering tones; whistling in the dark of knowledge is power.

I continue to eat the four-legged sort of meat despite having had a pescaterian sister for a number of years. True, there's much guilt in the dietary movement, but the pretenses of ethical capitalism and the appropriation of various civil rights movements and genocides have left me without the urge to expand my discipline in that particular direction. I deal more with suicide and military industrial complexes than domestic abuse and the atrocities of the meat market. This is why "A Tale for the Time Being" hit me with a much fiercer pulse that powers my heartbeat to this day. However, the half-star lowered rating above should be contextualized as Ozeki compared to Ozeki, rather than Ozeki compared to everyone else. It would be unfair to said everyone else when so few consider pushing their writing in all directions of contemporary times a necessity.

It's very hard to make me cry. If you insult me, I'll respond with far worse. If you hit me, I'll rip your throat out. As someone who isn't male and thus doesn't have the stoicism complex to lose, let me tell you: it's not healthy. Thus, I pay careful attention to what makes me uncontrollably bawl. What I've found thus far consists of an acknowledgement of a Big Scary World, coupled with an acknowledgement of the necessity to do something about that Big Scary part of the World, mixed in with a giggling through tears that marvels at those who do not sidestep representation of the real in favor of the safe security of the white suburban narrative. Everyone has a story, but do not cozen me to the narratives of the villains on the backs of the usually silent, nor pretend there is only one, single, irrefutable way of righteousness. More often than not, there is money, power, and their resulting illusions, all too often offered sacrifices of communication and humanity, all too often used as the end-all excuse, the ultimate safety blanket.

I like works that do this. They are few and far between, but ignoring the signposts of literary convention helps a bunch. Think Mary Ann Evans, George Eliot for the more widely known pen name. Then find her everywhere and everywhen and every tongue the world can sing.

I don't quite know how to describe this book, but I loved it.

Quirky, intriguing, honest, painful, assertive - all these qualities are present in it.

Set in the 90s, the story follows Jane, a frustrated documentarian. She takes on a job of producing a reality TV series called "My American Wife!" for a Japanese housewife audience.

Sponsored by the American beef industry, her task is to find "normal, wholesome" American families, shadow them, and promote a beef-heavy recipe.

With her Japanese-American heritage, she is a perfect fit as she has an understanding of both cultures.

However, it gets complicated and at times comical as she attempts to explain American culture to her crew.

Meanwhile, there is a parallel story of the Japanese ad executive who came up with the idea and his own family.

Published in 1999, "Meats" feels both recent and accurate yet also very long ago.

(They are all faxing things to each other! Wal-Mart still has the hyphen and is relatively new to many cities, where it hasn't fully wiped out local businesses but the signs are there.)

Jane examines our tendencies towards violence, sprawl, industrial agriculture, and more. There is talk of climate change in the terms I remember from high school.

And some of it could have been written today.

“I would like to think of my 'ignorance' less as a personal failing and more as a massive cultural trend, an example of doubling, of psychic numbing, that characterizes the end of the millennium. If we can’t act on knowledge, then we can’t survive without ignorance.”

I will definitely read more by Ozeki.

Reading this book serves as one means to provide oneself with the motivation to turn vegetarian. It is a novel, yet if one can believe that it is founded on the actual circumstances happening within the meat industry, one will experience nausea each time one walks past the meat section in the grocery store.

I perused this book around the year 2000, long before my days on goodreads.com. Consequently, I didn't pen my own review. I was reminded of it as the subsequent short review emerged on my PageADay Book Lover's calendar for today.

In this satire regarding American habits and attitudes towards consumption, Jane Tagaki-Little, a documentary filmmaker, undertakes a new project with a Japanese television show. Titled My American Wife, it is sponsored by a company that engages in PR for the meat industry. As Jane traverses Middle America in search of housewives willing to be hosts for the show, she obtains an eye-opening perspective on the beef business and resolves to utilize the show as a means to assail its abhorrent practices. A unique premise and Ozeki's caustic wit endow the story with its zest.

MY YEAR OF MEATS, by Ruth L. Ozeki (Penguin, 1999)

After hearing two remarkable books from Ruth Ozeki, namely "A Tale of Time Being" and "My Year of Meats", I couldn't help but be struck by the striking similarities between the two stories.

Both books center around the lives of two female characters who, in some way, come into contact. One is a Japanese woman living in Japan, and the other is an American of Japanese descent residing in America.

Just like in the other book, in this story, the author delves into relevant social issues. The main topic under discussion is undoubtedly the omnivorous diet and the associated meat business. The fact that Jane is a TV producer enables the inclusion of vivid descriptive material about livestock, which is crucial in forging an ethical-emotional connection with the animals. I found myself repulsed by the scene of the slaughterhouse. The story not only cultivates a socio-environmental awareness in the reader but also instills a critical sense towards the information provided by the media.

However, this is not merely a story advocating vegetarianism. These characters also prompt the reader to reflect on the role of women in modern society. On one hand, we have Akiko, a traditional Japanese woman, married to a macho man and economically dependent on him, a victim of domestic violence. In contrast, there is Jane, a modern, independent American woman who works and has a relationship without commitments. Both of them compel us to ponder upon sexuality, motherhood, life choices, and dreams.

And, in the end, I discovered one more aspect of this author. Ruth Ozeki has a penchant for happy endings. I spent the time listening to the audio, convinced that there would never be a happy ending to this story. But Ozeki surprised me by providing one. Was it a bit forced? Perhaps, but in this case, I don't really care. I simply love her books.